


Sun Stroke

by Maleficar



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 02:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2796362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maleficar/pseuds/Maleficar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A dip in the Forbidden Oasis turns into more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sun Stroke

“Look at us,” Dorian complained, dabbing at his face with a handkerchief that was probably as expensive as some of their weapons. “Absolutely filthy. If you could try, perhaps, to keep the Venatori off us, Blackwall, that would be preferred.”

“It’s not my fault you ran into the middle of it all,” Blackwall grumbled, slamming his shield down hard enough that it stood upright in the sand.

“Least it’s not demons, yeah?” Sera scratched at her chin, seemingly oblivious to the blood all over her. “I mean, it could be demons, and then we'd have to worry more about you and the Inquisitor going all…” She trailed off with a shudder.

“Your faith in us is inspiring, truly,” Dorian drawled. “Really, Evie, aren’t you the least bit put out by all this fighting? I’ve acquired more scars in the past month than I have in all my life.”

“What about that blood magic stuff?” Sera asked – and Dorian let out a sound caught somewhere between annoyed snarl and amused choke. “Didn’t that give you scars?”

With another strange sound – maybe it was frustration, though Evie wasn’t sure – Dorian snapped, “No, it didn’t, because I didn’t practice blood magic. Not all of us practice blood magic.”

“Ain’t someone cranky. The heat going to your head?” Sera cackled.

Evie’s lips quirked. Just quirked. She’d gotten too good at keeping from laughing these past few months, which was something of a surprise. At the beginning, she hadn’t expected the whole _end of the world, demons everywhere, must be Tuesday_ thing to have any humor in it at all. But her companions, such as they were, brought all measure of hilarity to almost every encounter. Excepting the truly serious ones. Well. There was that time they went poking around Crestwood and found yet another giant spider in a cave. One named Snowball. So, fair, even during the sometimes serious encounters there was levity. 

Tossing her thick braid over her shoulder, she laughed. “Dorian, the scars make you look dashing,” she said, playing casual peacemaker once again. She wasn’t really concerned that Dorian and Sera would kill each other (though she thought Solas and Varric might, one day, if given the chance to fight more over Cole), but she was concerned that they would start another childish pissing contest that ended with Sera’s hair on fire and arrows hanging from Dorian’s clothes. 

The pissing contests were fun to watch. Most of the time.

When it wasn’t approximately a thousand degrees in the sweltering sun with sweat dripping down her back. She could hear the distant fall of water, and she bit her lip. Maybe they could dip their toes in the Intrinsic Pool for a while. Maybe they could—

“—big one, right there!” Sera crowed with laughter, poking Dorian in the face.

“I do not!” Dorian pressed his handkerchief to his face, blotting at it furiously. 

Evie blinked.

Then Dorian pulled it away. “You little – there’s not going to be a scar there at all!” 

Mmm, scars. Her eyes flicked toward Blackwall, standing as the silent sentinel beside his shield, his eyes sweeping across the gorge. A small, secret sort of smile pulled at her lips. Blackwall had scars by the dozen, layer upon layer of lines white against his sun darkened skin. She licked her lips, imagining running her tongue along all those twisting paths.

“Eugh, she’s got her schmoopy face on,” Sera groaned, slinging her bow over her back. 

Heat suffused Evie’s cheeks, a sudden flush of warmth that made the blazing sun and sticky blood and rivulets of sweat suddenly unbearable. “I don't have a schmoopy face!” she exclaimed, pressing her hands to her cheeks, trying to rub away whatever expression she wore.

A smirk quirked Dorian’s lips up. “Oh, you do,” he said with a laugh.

She flicked her gaze back to Blackwall. Was it her imagination, or was he smirking, too? Was he _laughing_ at her? She pinched the bridge of her nose. It was the heat of the sun, surely, going straight to her head. Maker, she missed the cool Marches. She must have, at some point, committed some unpardonable sin – not that she believed too particularly much in sin in a general sense – to end up saddled with the Inquisition. Not that the Inquisition was awful. It wasn’t. It was the people. Not that they were awful, either, not at all. They were just… well. Saying they all had strong personalities was like saying the sky was blue or water was wet.

Water. Evie fixated on the thought of water, wet and cool, slicing down her naked skin. Just the thought of the cool, liquid caress stole a breathless moan from her, the kind she usually made when Blackwall's clever fingers stole up the inside of her thighs, pushing her legs apart before his lips brushed over her soft folds, before his tongue delved into her, or—

“That’s something beyond schmoopy,” Sera said, breaking into Evie’s thoughts with all the subtlety of a pride demon demon rampaging through a fortress.

Evie squeaked softly, glancing from Dorian – who was smirking at her with one of those awful, smug, knowing looks of his – to Blackwall. Blackwall lifted his brow and spoke two words. “My lady?” Those two words made the heat of the sun insignificant in comparison to the heat blossoming between her legs. Sweet pleasure coursed through her, a curling lick of the most delightful fire, and she suppressed a shudder.

And she was done. Done with this conversation, which was going nowhere good for her, and the heat and the fighting and all the dead Venatori who, shortly, would start to stink worse than death. Or maybe not worse than death, since, being dead, they were going to stink like death.

Clearing her throat, Evie spun about and stomped away from the remains of the Venatori. The Intrinsic Pool. She needed to get to the Pool, stuff her head under a waterfall, and pretend her companions didn’t exist. Clearly, that would solve all her problems.

Every.

Last.

One.

“What, you ain’t gonna take their stuff?” Sera called after her.

“Something _must_ be wrong with our darling Inquisitor,” Dorian said, his voice a smug purr, “if she isn’t going to steal from the dead.” 

“We’re going for a swim,” Evie sputtered without looking back, clenching her staff in her hand. “We’re all going for a damned swim because it’s too damn hot.”

“Ooh, is that what we’re calling it these days,” Sera said, and Evie could hear the laughter in her voice.

“What are we calling what?” Dorian asked.

“Running away with our tails between our legs.”

“I doubt that’s what she wants between her legs.”

Choking, Evie lengthened her stride, quickened her pace, and told herself, again, that it was the sun. The sun was making everyone crazy. They should have gone shard hunting somewhere like the Exalted Plains where the sun wasn’t a mean, glowing ball of vicious heat.

It wasn’t a long walk to the camp in the oasis near the Pool, and they’d cleared out most of the Venatori in the area, so Evie wasn’t worried about running into any enemies. And, oh, that Pool. Just thinking about it made a shiver wash down her spine, though that might have been more embarrassment. Sera was making up a lurid song about all the things one could do in a shallow pool with one’s lover. While Dorian encouraged her.

Half sliding down the sandy dunes, Evie made her way toward the Intrinsic Pool. The water would be her salvation. It would offer her solitude from her companions, who were amusing enough when they weren't teasing _her_.

“Oi, wait for the rest of us!” Sera called. “I wanna see that schmoopy face again! Old man, d’you have a schmoopy face, too?”

“No,” came Blackwall’s gruff reply, carried by a hot, desert wind.

“No, no, you definitely have a schmoopy face,” Dorian said. “Why, just yesterday—” 

Evie stopped listening. At the edge of the Pool now, she dropped her staff and quickly began shucking her armor. The quicker she got out of her clothes, the quicker they all got out of their clothes and into the Pool, the quicker they’d all shut up.

It was the perfect plan.

Behind her, Sera hooted, laughing and catcalling her. “And look at that fine arse! Ain’t that the finest arse you’ve ever seen?”

“I’ve seen better in the mirror, certainly, but I suppose hers does well,” Dorian agreed, and then he was at Evie’s side, peeling off his clothes, too. “An inspired idea, this swim,” he murmured to her.

Behind them, Sera made a sound of disgust. “And who’d want to look at _your_ arse?”

“Not I,” Blackwall said in one of those tones that rolled through Evie like gentle thunder. “Not when there’s far better.”

“Perhaps you _are_ capable of higher thought, Blackwall.” Blackwall grunted at him. “Ah, for a moment, I was impressed.” Dorian was down to his smalls, following Evie as she all but ran toward one of the waterfalls. “And you’re red down your back, Inquisitor! It’s quite fetching, your unbridled embarrassment!”

“Shut up and clean off the damn blood!” Evie shouted before stepping under the heavy fall of water. She stood there as it poured around her, and for a little while, at least, she was able to forget she had been venerated above all other people as the Herald of Andraste. There was no Corypheus, there was no war, there were no deaths. She sighed, the sound relieved and full of pleasure, and she turned to see her companions as she slicked her hair away from her face.

Sera howled with laughter. “Ain’t no good, your smalls!”

Eyes widening, Evie looked down and realized the white fabric of her smalls was completely translucent. She wasn’t particularly modest but she whirled with a shriek of horror anyway, clamping her hands over her breasts. “Sera!”

“I’m gonna look if you put those tits on display. Ain’t that right, mage?”

“I’d say so. Turn around again, Evelyn.” Dorian only called her that when he was baiting her, the ass. “Let’s judge them.”

“I hate you all,” she shouted over her shoulder, glowering.

Laughing, completely naked, Sera ran into the water and started kicking it at Dorian, and the two immediately stopped paying Evie any attention, thank the Maker. She sagged under the falling water.

At least until two warm, rough hands fell on her shoulders. 

“My lady,” Blackwall murmured, his lips brushing over her neck. 

“The sun,” she complained, gesturing weakly in its general direction. “It’s making them act like idiots.” 

He laughed, the sound a low rumble that washed over her. Maker, she loved his laugh. It was rich and thick, like heavy cream, decadent and rare. “Is that why you ran all the way here and took off all your clothes?” His hands slid from her shoulders to the fabric that bound her breasts tight under her robes.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” she grumbled. “The sun was hot, they were cranky, I was cranky. Splash in the water, relax a little. Stop being cranky.”

He tugged at the swath of fabric and let it drop into the shallow water around their ankles. She shivered as he pressed his back to hers. The heat of his body poured into her, but was in no way as overwhelmingly oppressive as the sun. His heat was welcome. Relaxing. “It’s still a good idea,” he said, his hands sliding over her ribs, under her arms. He cupped her breasts and she gasped, arching into his touch.

“They’re right there,” she said, glancing to one side. 

Dorian and Sera were shrieking epithets and kicking water at each other, stark naked.

“You’ve told me you’re very good at being quiet,” Blackwall said, rolling her nipples between his fingers.

She sucked in a sharp breath, swallowing a moan. She _was_ good at being quiet. She was _very_ good at being quiet. Years in a Circle made a mage an expert at quick, quiet sex, something Blackwall had never given her. From the first, he’d turned sex into a slow, sensual feast. He’d had her screaming his name, begging and pleading with no care for volume, from the first time she’d let him into her bed. 

He pinched her nipples again, then soothed the ache with gentle strokes of his thumb. Reason fled her, leaving her with only the ability to feel. And, Maker, she felt. She felt fire coursing through every vein in her body, the fierce heat of it pooling between her legs. There was a wetness there that had nothing to do with the water that sluiced over her. A wetness and an ache.

“Maybe we should test that.” He drew her flush against his chest, one hand creeping down her belly.

“Test what?” she asked, breathless, her muscles jumping under his touch. Her eyes were riveted on his hand, watching its steady journey. All she could think about was where he was going and what he’d do when he got there. How he’d touch her. All that gentle reverence, that utter adoration. And then she’d moan his name, beg him to take her, to fuck her, and he’d snap and push her against the side of the gorge, bury himself in her aching body, and—

His lips brushed over her ear. “You’re not even listening,” he said, laughter in his voice. His fingers brushed the curls between her legs and she shuddered in his arms. He tightened his hold on her ever so slightly, and she shuddered again. The strength in his body was magnificent, unbearably sexy, overwhelmingly alluring.

“Listening?” She had no idea what he was talking about.

“Shall we see how quiet you can be, my lady?” His hand slipped between her legs, cupping her, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. He liked hearing her voice her pleasure, was quite adamant she be as vocal as she wanted, and she had embraced that freedom.

“They’ll still know.”

“Does that bother you?” 

Ever solicitous, her Blackwall. Always concerned about her and what she wanted. What she needed. “No,” she moaned softly, rolling her hips against his hand. “Please. _Please_.”

“With pleasure, my lady.”

His fingers pressed against her soft, heated flesh, and she bit the inside of her cheek – hard. As he stroked and petted, teasing her with fleeting caresses that threatened her sanity, she clung to the arm he wrapped around her chest. She sagged against him, shifting her feet to spread her legs wider, and he sucked in a breath. “Lovely,” he murmured, his thumb drawing a circle around her clit, maddeningly close to where she wanted him to touch her but not quite there. 

A shriek from Sera sent a lance of anxiety through her, and Evie jerked in Blackwalll’s arms. He stilled, and she gritted her teeth in frustration. “No,” she whispered. “Don’t stop, please.” 

“As you command. You are, after all, in charge.”

Maker, what a lie that was, and they both knew it. He paid lip service to her command, but both of them knew the minute he touched her, the minute his mouth or hands brushed skin, she was his. His fingers moved again, tracing her swollen lips, pressing between them and seeking her entrance. One finger sank inside her, thick and large, and she writhed in his arms, twisting to get him deeper, to move him where she wanted. But he denied her. Stirring his finger inside her in slow, lazy circles, he nuzzled her neck.

“Does it arouse you to know they could see us?” he asked her.

Heat blazed through her, a wash of flame that seared her from the inside out. She pressed her lips together to keep from moaning her assent, instead tipping back her head. Her eyes found his as he dragged his finger along her channel, scalding her with pleasure. 

“They’re close enough to see,” he said, and Dorian snarled an invective at Sera at just that moment, a poignant reminder that they weren’t alone. 

“Let them,” she breathed, rolling her hips against his hand.

He squeezed her side as he started a slow, steady rhythm, dragging his finger against sensitive muscles and pressing back inside her with agonizing slowness. “Not a sound, then,” he rumbled, his thumb brushing ever so lightly across her clit. She clutched at his arm, her nails digging crescents into her skin. 

He built the pleasure inside her slowly, carefully, with the kind of precise attention surgeons gave to their patients. His touches were thorough and meticulous; he knew exactly how to touch her to maximize her pleasure and drive her mad with it. She was panting in seconds, her hips rocking against his hand, her lips forming words like _more_ and _yes_ and _please_. Every time she came close to actually crying out, either Sera or Dorian would make some sound, and she bit her lips hard to keep from making noise.

Because it was more exciting to be silent, even if she didn’t care. Because the threat of being caught thrilled her to her core.

“How long can you hold out, my lady?” he asked her, curling his finger inside her with a devastating stroke. Her toes dug into the wet sand, her body straining in his hold as Dorian laughed and Sera swore. 

_Not a sound_ , she reminded herself, because if she allowed herself even the quietest of moans, she wouldn’t be able to stop the cries of ecstasy. 

He pressed his thumb to her clit and she lurched against his hold, curling forward as her eyes squeezed shut. That touch combined with the steady stroke of his finger was almost too much. He drew her toward the edge of pleasure, to that place where it fractured like thin ice into something so much _more_ , with each touch. Circling her clit, teasing her, his touches feather light and then firm, there and then gone. The hand holding her waist shifted, moving to her breast, and he squeezed gently, thumbing her hardened nipple.

Pleasure lanced through her, an aching, unfulfilled need that he stoked higher. He pushed her, tugged her, cajoled her toward that sweet, impossibly perfect breaking point. And then, his mouth at her ear, he breathed a single word. “Evie.” 

She came apart in his arms, her toes curled so tightly against the bottoms of her feet she ought to have felt pain. But there was no pain, only waves of pleasure as her body rippled around him, clung to him, tried to pull that finger deeper inside her. 

He yanked his hands free of her, grabbing her by the shoulders and spinning her around. The echoes of pleasure dulled her senses, confounding her. And then he had her against the wall of the gorge, their bodies partially hidden by the waterfall. Her legs were around his waist, one of his hands braced against the stone at her back, the other between their bodies as he guided himself inside her. In a single thrust, he was in her to the hilt, and her body was still shuddering with pleasure, still rippling around his.

He swore, shifting his hand to her hip to hold her as he thrust into her, his pace almost brutal. “Evie,” he murmured, and she looked at him with eyes glazed by lust, her lips parted on a silent moan.

She saw nothing but desire in his gaze. Desire and lust, the sheer, unadulterated wanting of her. Of _her_. Little Evelyn Trevelyan, cast-off, shameful daughter of a noble family. Nothing and no one, no good at anything but mediocrity. He wanted her, desired her above all others, craved her and no one else, and it twisted her up inside, made her body sing.

Grabbing his shoulders, clinging to him, she met his thrusts with perfectly timed rolls of her hips. They knew each other’s bodies well. She understood what he wanted. Something quick, something hard. A swift release of tension.

A silent expression of adoration.

Little whimpers worked their way past her lips, breathless mewls that almost had the quality of words. She wanted desperately to cry out his name, to beg him for more and for it to be harder, faster. The intensity with which he took her demanded vocal adulation, and holding back was almost impossible, even when she saw Sera running after Dorian, slinging wet sand at his back.

“Focus on me, Evie,” he said, his voice a growl.

Maker, if Sera and Dorian looked at her and Blackwall, there would be no doubt what they were doing. Half of her wanted them to see her legs around Blackwall’s hips, his massive shoulders shielding her body but the motion of his hips leaving no question in their minds. More than half of her wanted that. Almost all of her wanted it.

He cupped her cheek, forcing her to look at him. He loved when she looked at him, when their eyes met, when he was buried inside her and there was no question that he was the source of all her pleasure. She met his gaze, her breath catching in her throat as his cock rubbed delicious places inside of her.

“Evie.”

Later, she promised herself, she would crawl onto her bed on her hands and knees, look over her shoulder, and beg him to fuck her. Later, she would arch her back and spread her legs, and stroke herself while he watched. Later, she would do everything she could to make him snap, to shatter his control.

At the moment, she needed him in control. Because she wasn’t.

She arched against him, straining, rocking her hips and twisting to get him deeper, to feel him where she needed him most. As she writhed in his arms, desperate, her lips pressed together, he dropped his hand between them. His fingers found her clit, stroking and playing, and she let out a quiet cry – one he immediately devoured with a kiss.

His lips were hard on hers, demanding and insistent. A touch of his tongue at her lips had her mouth open, welcoming him inside. He paused, drawing back, leaving her like that, and gave her a purely masculine smile. “When you come, scream for me,” he told her, and he covered her mouth with his.

Those words sent heat streaking her through her, her eyes fluttering shut to close out everything that wasn’t him. She burned for him, all fire and pleasure. His fingers playing between her legs, tracing strange designs on her clit, were driving her mad. The steady thrust of his cock into her body stole her thought. He dropped his other hand to her hip, and the sheer strength of him, holding her against the wall while moving inside her, sent another blast of heat through her.

A deft touch changed the cant of her hips, and then he was sliding so perfectly into her, so deeply, caressing every last nerve ending that she whimpered into his kiss. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her tightly as he drove into her, his fingers insistent on her clit, and for a second, her eyes opened and met his. 

The possessive light in them drove her over the edge. She cried out, and he caught the sound in their kiss, drinking it down as her body clenched around him. He didn’t slow, didn’t stop moving until he pulled another orgasm from her, another steady wave of ecstasy that dragged her under the surface of pleasure. She drowned in it, was blinded by it, was consumed by it, but not so much so that missed his groan of delight when he thrust into her a final time.

They stayed like that for a moment, wound around each other, barely hidden by the curtain of water, just breathing.

“I’ve done nothing to deserve you,” he murmured against her lips.

Panting, she said, “I disagree.” She sucked in a breath of air, trying to anchor herself to her flesh – which seemed absurd, given how sex had everything to do with flesh. But when he made her come, when he shattered her on the anvil of his pleasure, she always felt as though her body had been ripped away from her and she was just spirit, or whatever it was that went to the Fade. “I—” 

“Oi!” Sera called out. “If the two of you are done yet, some miner lady got all piss-arse mad at us for being naked! Then she told us to find a ring. There’s money in it. Get your arses out of there and get dressed.”

“Don’t feel obligated,” Dorian replied. “The view is quite wonderful from where we are.”

“It ain’t so great. It’d be better if we could see Evie’s tits again.”

Evie sighed, closing her eyes and resting her head on Blackwall’s shoulder. “I’m going to kill them one day.” 

Laughing, Blackwall set her down slowly, pulling out of her as he drew away, and she sighed at the loss of his heat, so much sweeter than the cruel sun’s burn. He touched her cheek. “We’ll come back her alone some time,” he said, his eyes bright with promise. “Just the two of us.” He leaned toward her, brushing a kiss over her lips. “And you can be as loud as you want.”

She sighed again, but with expectation instead of exasperation. “Yes,” she breathed.

Some ten minutes later, dried and dressed and pulling on her boots, Dorian leaned over Evie’s shoulder, casting a long shadow over her. “That,” he said cheerfully, “was the most inspired idea you’ve ever had. Shall we do it again some time?”


End file.
